Holden's Journal
by Holden1933
Summary: Holden's Journal: journal entries, random thoughts, correspondence, book reviews and other stuff. More journal entries ready to go. Waiting for some reviews before posting.


**Holden – A Continuation**

AFTER I GOT OUT of that crumby place out-west, after all that madman business I already told you about, I went back to New York to my old room, the one I had when I was a kid before I went away to all those phony schools I already told you about.

In my old room nothing changes. It's like the _Museum_ , the one with the Indians and the Eskimos and the mummies that our teacher, Miss Aigletinger, used to take us to on Saturdays. What I mean is my _room_ is the same but _I'm_ different. Somehow that makes me happy. But it also depresses hell out of me too, to tell you the truth.

I've been staying in my room, mostly, catching-up on my sleep and all. I've been kind of depressed, to tell you the truth. One thing about depression, you get your sleep.

I almost miss all the quacks and nuts at that place I was at, just taking it easy. I never really felt like I said 'goodbye' to that crumby place. One day I was there, and then one day D.B. showed-up with his Jaguar and I was gone. When I leave a place I like to feel like I'm leaving it, if you know what I mean. That's my goddam trouble. When I leave a place I start missing it.

 **Still Crazy After All These Years**

I'm staying at this place in Vermont for a while. It's called a _The_ _Retreat_ for Chrissake, but it's really just like that crumby place I went to for some rest out in California, after all that madman business I already told you about.

Anyway, this doctor here, Dr. Seymour Glass, wants me to keep a journal where I write down my thoughts and all. Dr. Glass said keeping a journal would help me to _understand_ myself. I think it's a bunch of crap, but Dr. Glass said it would help me to get better and even _made_ me promise to do it. I hate it when people _make_ you promise to do something; especially if it's for your own good.

I told old Doc Glass I would do it just to get him to stop _talking_ about it all the time. _Talk_ ing about stuff all the time bores me, to tell you the truth. Dr. Glass said something pretty corny, something about life being a journey and all. What he said kind of reminded me of my old History teacher, Mr. Spencer, at Pencey, where I got the ax. Old Mr. Spencer kept telling me that life was a game.

I wish people would make up their minds. Is life a journey or game?

So here's my journal. I don't know who's going to read this crap and I really don't give a damn, if you want to know the truth.

 **Stradlater's Bachelor Party**

THE TRUTH IS I didn't even _want_ to go to old Stradlater's bachelor party. The party was for this stupid moron, Ward Stradlater that I used to room with at Pencey before I got the ax and all that madman business that happened to me that I already told you about.

I mean, I didn't even really _like_ Stradlater that much, to tell you the truth. I don't even _know_ why he invited me to his stupid party, but my mother said it would be impolite not to go after he _in_ vited me and all. I mean, if you go to a guy's bachelor party I think you should at least _like_ the sonuvabitch. It made _me_ feel like a phony to go to his party and pretend that I gave a damn.

All his moron jock friends had this bachelor party for him at a fancy restaurant. They even reserved a special room for his stupid party. Very big deal. It was awful. I had to sit at this crappy table with all these jock morons and listen to them _talk_ about what great friends they were with old Stradlater, the bastard. I mean, he looks good but he's one of the biggest slobs I know. Each jerk at the table told a story to prove that he was a closer friend of old Stradlater's than any of the other jerks. I couldn't stand it after a while until I finally got this deaf waiter to bring me a goddam drink. Why is it that when you really need a drink you can never get one? Anyway, after a few drinks I could almost stand being at Stradlater's stupid bachelor party.

The worst part of the whole thing was this stripper they hired. She looked about sixteen and was sort of ugly. And she had these bad teeth that didn't exactly make you go wild with desire. I mean, if you're going to be a stripper and all I think you should at least _look_ a little sexy for Chrissake.

So after about an hour this girl, this stripper, finally came out onto this crappy little stage they had set up for her. She was dressed in some stripper uniform that was supposed to be sexy as hell. This scary looking guy she brought with her turned on a record player and she started to dance a little to this terrible music and take her clothes off. It was awful. I'm probably the biggest sex maniac you ever saw, but she just depressed hell out of me, to tell you the truth.

She brought this scary looking bastard with her, for protection I guess, in case one of the morons was overcome with desire and attacked her or something. He even had these crazy sunglasses on at night for Chrissake. He just stood in the back of the room with his stupid sunglasses on at night.

It kind of spoiled it for me, if you want to know the truth, and I kept looking over my shoulder all the time to see what he was up to. Mean looking guys who wear sunglasses at night kind of scare me to tell you the truth. He kind of reminded me of old Maurice, the bastard.

You had to feel sorry for her, the stripper, that she had to get undressed and dance for these morons and go around with a mean looking guy who didn't even know enough to take his sunglasses off at night. It depressed hell out of me. It really did.

God, I hate it when I get talked into doing things I know I'm going to hate. People are always trying to make you do things you don't want to do. I don't understand people, I really don't. Why do people always try to make you do stuff that you know you won't like?

 **Stradlater's Wedding**

WHERE I WANT TO start telling is about this wedding that I went to. If you want to see phonies, go to a wedding. They were coming in the goddam windows for Chrissake. I guess I went crazy when old Jane Gallagher married that bastard Stradlater. Because she had to. After what happened in the backseat of that goddam Ed Banky's car.

Ed Banky was the basketball coach at Pencey. Stradlater was one of his pets, because he was the center on the goddam basketball team, and Ed Banky always let him borrow his car when he wanted it. In every school I've gone to, all the athletic bastards stick together.

At the wedding, when this Holy Joe preacher asked if anyone knew why they should not be united in Holy Matrimony I stood up in church and all and told everybody that Stradlater was a goddam stupid moron and how he didn't even know if Jane's name was Jane or Jean and how he didn't care that she wouldn't take her kings out of the back row when she played checkers and how he was only marrying here on account of he had to after getting her pregnant in the backseat of that goddam Ed Banky's car.

My voice was shaking something awful. This next part I don't remember so hot. The last thing I remember was Stradlater sitting on my chest and punching me in the face.

 **Digression**

When I first got here, at _The Retreat,_ in Vermont, I couldn't talk on account of my jaw was wired shut from when that bastard Stradlater broke it after I _said_ a few things about what a crumby bastard he was at his wedding. It was actually kind of nice not having to talk and all. When somebody wanted to talk to me all I did was point at my broken jaw and nod like a moron and that ended the conversation.

Even though I ended up here at this crazy place I'm _still_ glad I said what I said at the wedding. I mean, _some_ body has to stand up to these bastards. I'm mostly a coward, I swear to God I really am, but I just went _crazy_ , I really did, when I saw Stradlater and old Jane _marr_ ied for Chrissake. I just couldn't stand it, I really couldn't. I _mean_ Stradlater _looks_ like a good guy and all, but he's a mean bastard. Believe me. I _know_.

Anyway, this place that I'm staying at, _The Retreat_ , is pretty nice, it really is. The grounds are kind of like Central Park, only with these crazy mountains all around. It's quite beautiful, it really is. They even have a pond here. I'll have to find out if there are ducks on the pond and where they go in the winter.

But I'm digressing. I had to take this terrible class, Oral Expression, at one of those phony schools I went to before I got the ax. In this class every boy had to give an _ex_ temporaneous speech, and if he got off track—even just a little—all those bastards in the class started yelling _"digression"._ I mean, it's really _hard_ to give an interesting talk if you're just _wait_ ing for morons to start yelling "digression" at you. It's hard to _con_ centrate for Chrissake. It gets on your nerves, to tell you the truth.

When it was my turn to talk I told the morons about how I wanted to move to Vermont and live in a cabin and pretend to be a deaf-mute and marry this girl who _really_ was a deaf-mute so I wouldn't have to talk to her or anybody else. If anybody wanted to _talk_ to me they'd have to write me a note and wait for me to write my answer. Most people would give up trying to talk to me pretty soon. Why the hell would I want to waste my time _talk_ ing to some moron? I mean, they'd probably want to tell me about how many miles a gallon their goddam car got, for Chrissake.

Naturally, as soon as I began talking about pretending to be a deaf-mute the morons in the class started yelling "digression" and the teacher flunked me because I didn't give a _co_ herent presentation. That kills me. I should have been sore as hell but I wasn't. I just didn't care that much, to tell you the truth. I even felt a little sorry for the teacher, Mr. Vinson. I mean he _has_ listen to this crap every day.


End file.
